


Firsts

by Missy



Category: Evil Dead (Movies), Evil Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Love, First Time, Humor, Married Sex, Porn With Plot, Romance, Slice of Life, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-06
Updated: 2011-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sexual history of Ashley J. Williams, spanning from his sixteenth to his thirtieth year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely connected to my An American Demonslayer In Paris universe, which I have not posted here; rest assured, it can be read individually.

He was sixteen, and the leaves were starting to turn in woods surrounding the school. They filled the hood of his parka when she shoved it back off of his shoulders, her fingers scrabbling under the collar of his red plaid shirt, feeling along his neck, unbuttoning his shirt.

Ash surfaced for air and looked down into the heavily painted face of his date. The girl in his arms was VIOLET CHARLES (she more than earned the mental all-caps he attached to her name), captain of the flag squad and the hottest girl in all of McKinley High. Some part of his mind couldn’t quite register the fact that he was out on a date with this girl (THE girl); God did he owe Scott one.

VIOLET stroked his bicep, her incredible breasts heaving against a skin-tight angora sweater. “Do you work out?” she breathed.

“Ju-jitsu,” he gasped out, mashing his lips against her again. Desperately trying to block out the sound of his own throbbing heartbeat, Ash tuned in to his inner Scott. What was the most important thing to do to a girl when you want to touch her boob? _Gently,_ he decided, stroking her arm. _Slowly…._ As if he were handling a crystal figurine, he stroked down to her wrist, up her side, and – suddenly at the promised land – the side of her right breast.

Blood rushed to his cock as he cupped her (holy shit, braless) breast. They felt unlike anything he’d ever touched before – firmer than he’d imagined in his lonely, stolen moments in his bathroom with the Playboys Scott had loaned him. When he carefully, gingerly stroked the crest she gasped and pressed her chest into his hand.

Ash’s eyes almost rolled back into his head. He owed Scott something big. Something huge….

She pried her tongue out of his sucking mouth. “Do you have a safe?” she asked.

Ash started up at her blankly. “Huh?”

“A rubber. A condom, Ash? Do you have one?”

Relief filled his features, followed by a strange mixture of enthusiasm and utter terror. He nodded, and she grinned, reaching for the hem of her sweater. He belatedly realized he should move his hand away from her chest so that she could better left it away.

Then he was staring at her breasts. VIOLET CHARLES’ rose-tipped, plump, firm breasts.

“What do you think, stud?” she asked, in a voice that he would figure out many years later was an attempt at sophisticated detachment.

Ash nodded dumbly, and she chuckled. “Take out the rubber, I’ll put it on.”

Ash’s cock lurched upward dramatically, making a completely obvious tent in his pants as he jerked his hips upward, trying to get his wallet out of his back pocket. He finds the rubber where it’s been since Scott sold it to him (“Five bucks, man – hey, we’re in an economic crises!”), and places it in her hand, throwing his wallet aside.

“Uh,” he squeaked out, “don’t you want to do some more uh…foreplay stuff?”

She smiled. “I’m ready if you are, honey.” To prove her point, she hitched up her skirt, proving to him that she was both a natural redhead and a defamer of underwear.

Ash’s mouth went dry, his eyes widening just slightly. VIOLET just smiled and reached for the buttons at the top of Ash’s 501’s. She fished him out of his jeans and boxers, allowing his cock to emerge into the chilly air before gently and firmly stroking him from tip to base, once, twice, three times.

His mouth fell open. His eyes closed. VIOLET was touching his cock; VIOLET was going to have sex with him. The elation he felt snowballed into crises-level arousal; he opened his mouth to get out a warning but it died on a moan.

And then he came in three voluminous gouts all over VIOLET CHARLES’ soft white hands.

 

***

They had planned the evening out with great precision. Dinner at the nicest restaurant in town, where Linda could try out her French; dancing at a brand-new club near the center of town; drinks and desert at a bar in the theatre district.

They had gotten back to Linda’s dorm some time after midnight; no candles (those would set off the smoke alarms), but she dons a new white nightdress before drawing him into the secret feminine world of her trundle bed.

 

He tried desperately to keep a lid on his arousal; this girl deserved gentleness, warmth, loving. Ash unveiled her small copper breasts and pale brown areola with gentle, patient touches; he knelt on the floor and suckled from each until her head lolled backward like a rose broken at the head of its stem. The night dress puddled at his feet as he parted her tanned thighs, brushing smooth skin, feeling the occasional prickle of razor burn until he caressed the coppery softness of the curls hidden between them.

“Ash?” she whispered. “Do you want me to…” what she wanted to do was lost on a groan as she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled his plain white wifebeater off. Ash obediently raised his arms for her, only allowing a moment of detachment from her marvelous breasts.

She rested back against the headboard, sighing. Suddenly she reached down and adjusted his hand, pressing his thumb against a rise hidden among soft folds. “It’s there, lover,” she whispered, then groaned softly as he brushed across it.

Everyone had always told Ash that he was good with his hands. Linda clearly agreed with that assessment as she went slick around his fingers, then wet, then soaking; she panted, rising and falling in time with his gentle forays and retreats into and out of her body. He couldn’t take it anymore; his cock was throbbing in a maddening tattoo against his fly, begging to be set free.

Then Ash pressed her back against the bed as he fumbled with his belt buckle, shucking down his jeans and shorts in one movement. Her eyes were tender as she reached out to touch him. Oxygen hissed out of Ash’s lungs as she made contact with his flesh; there had been plenty of petting sessions, experimentations with soft mouths and awkward teeth and tongues, but it all held deeper meaning today. She reached over to her bedside table, pulling out a rubber and trying to sheathe him. Between them they accidentally shredded two before managing to cover his erection.

Ash tried to take a step forward, tripping against his pants. She laughed softly, steadying him and then helping him out of them and his shoes. Then he was kneeling between her spread legs on the bed, pulling one of her legs up over his hips and reaching down with his left to ease inside.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He’d touched her plenty of times, seen plenty of movies and magazines, but had never tried to push himself into woman before. He kept hitting the wrong angle, until Linda reached down, took him in hand, and nudged him into the right place.

Ash penetrated her with a halting but firm stroke, trying not to be rough (God, he didn’t want to hurt her, this girl he’d worshipped since he saw her on register on his first day at the S-Mart). Then he felt warm, soft walls slowly collapse around him, squeezing him tight, and didn’t have a mind to think at all.

He heard Linda sigh softly beneath him, then wrap both of her arms around his neck. “Okay, lover?”

“I-I’m supposed to ask you that,” Ash gasped. She was so soft and warm and REAL around him, even though he couldn’t feel the texture or wetness of her through the latex.

“I’m fine,” she said – still warm, sweet, comforting Linda, which made him feel better. “Ash?”

“Uh?”

“You can move now.”

Moving was exactly what he was afraid of doing. She felt so tight that he knew he’d blow it the second he did. Somehow Ash managed to hold out for a few minutes before falling onto her breast, creaming into the rubber and groaning into the side of her neck.

Sanity returned gradually, and with it remorse. “Shit,” he muttered, reaching down and fumbling for her clit. She was more than ready; he felt the thrumming of her orgasm around his painfully-sensitive cock, which he pulled out of her with a gasp as she came.

Through sleepy eyes, he watched her delight. So that’s what it looked like –really looked like – when a girl came. It was sweet, surprisingly quiet; not at all theatrical, like the girls who wroth their way across the screen at the Columbus XXX.

He tied up and disposed of the rubber in her wastebasket before crawling up into her embrace. “Did it break?” she worried. He shook his head, knowing that the last thing she needed was a baby right now. She sighed and cuddled against Ash’s collarbone. “Next time, we should try this at your place.”

He gave her a groan. “I’m not doing this within fifty feet of Scotty.”

“We could get rid of him for the night; I don’t know, send him to the movies or something. I met a girl in my abnormal psych class on Friday; I think they’d be a good pair.”

“Think so?” he chucked. “If it’s got a beaver, Scott will be happy.”

“Ash!” she slapped his upper arm as he laughed tiredly.

“Just talking turkey, babe.” He kissed her neck. “I love you.”

“No, really?”

He laughed. “D’you think I’d let just any girl pop my cherry? “he mock-sniffled. “I’ve got standards, y’know.”

“I know,” she kissed the tip of his chin. “I love you, Ash.”

He let her snuggle up against him, listening peacefully to the sounds of disco leaking through under the doorway from the neighboring room. He had to get up before her RA made bed checks; he had to drive back to his apartment before Scott called the cops. And he would.

Later.

 

***

“Am I hurting you?” The brown-eyed girl underneath him looked up at Ash with something akin to fear. “Hey,” he whispered soothingly, rubbing his fingers through her reddish-brown hair. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”

“Aye, milord,” she said quite submissively. Her tone concerned Ash.

“I want you to like this,” he said, gently brushing his fingers over her small curves, feeling her nut-colored nipple pucker against his left hand. “Does that feel good?”

She bobbed her head, somewhat shyly. He kissed her cheek in praise, then her mouth, gently coaxing her tongue out into his.

Ash examined the woman in the firelight; her fair skin, pale as sweetbriar, and her rose-colored lips and red-brown hair. Something about her turned the wall of anger and ice surrounding his heart to water, melting down to nothingness, making him feel real and human again. She had been so bold in kissing him back at first; utterly fearless, but as his right hand skirted her pubic mound she gasped, suddenly shy.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Sheila’s eyes shot to his face. “Nay,” she whispered. He lipped her nipple before gently sucking it into his mouth. She ‘mmed’ and ‘aahhed’ softly, and he looked up to gauge her reaction by her expression. She seemed completely disconcerted by his pleasuring of her. “Spread your legs, baby,” he growled, “lemme see you.”

She gasped at his tone of voice, the look in his eyes, and obeyed quietly.

Ash stared at her for a moment as he ran his middle finger up and down the folds between her legs. Wet, already – soft and open. He considered sinking into her, but rejected the notion. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

The question surprised him. He didn’t tend to eat pussy – it wasn’t really his thing – but this beautiful, regal girl lay beneath him looking wet and soft. Sweet. Edible.

Sheila flushed at his question, then nodded, parting her knees.

She tasted like salt. Woman. Heat. He was surprised by how much he liked it, and even more surprised when her nails burned their way across his scalp, making him gasp into her sex.

“More, please, more…what do ye do? My heavens!” She tugged at his hair and he licked at the small evidence of her pleasure. Licked and licked and licked until the button began to noticeably swell and pinken, until she began to drip her musk onto the furs. Her wetness amazed him as the tempo of her breathing increased and he introduced his fingers to her body.

“Oh!” she remarked just once as she began to pulse, her wetness spilling out around his fingers. He lay back to study the pulsing of her sex, her arousal feeding his.

When she stopped he fell to her like a god torn from the sky, barely able to position himself and penetrate her. The sensation made him freeze; wet woman, silky walls, incredible heat. He looked down, watching himself sink inch by inch into a woman, bare for the first time. She gave a little moan as he breached her but pushed up her hips; the pain wasn’t enough to make her stop bucking, or for him to almost immediately begin thrusting and withdrawing in a heavy, regular pattern.

He tried not to stare at her breasts, knowing it would finish him off – wrapping his tongue around her hard brown nipples he began to quicken the tempo. She didn’t seem to be in any pain, even though he could see the blood on his cock, feel the slight difference in moisture inside of her. She clasped him selflessly to her small breast, until he collapsed forward on her with a small roar and pumped into her wildly.

Moments passed, and then he felt her tears dripping onto his cheek. Self-recrimination picked at him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

She shook her head, grabbing him by the chin, then throwing her arms around his neck. “I love thee.”

And everything within Ash turned to ice again.

 

***

She was just one of the many who he had saved; another of his type. He barely remembered what her skin felt like pressed against him, or how her lips tasted; he only saw red, red hair, red nails, red lips.

He pleasured her sex with the bored adroitness of a courtier at work, and she simulated a rousing response. Wetness coated his fingers (he wiped them on the sheets, later, hating her scent), and he teased her to the point of aroused interest before grabbing her by the thighs, spreading them, and penetrating her in a quick stroke.

He fucked her from behind with a hard, brutal detachment as she writhed and groaned, putting out a great show to no one’s benefit. He stared at the back of her head, pounding in, jerking out, angry because she wasn’t coming already, angry because he would probably have to spend the night with her, hating the heavy floral scent of her skin and the smell of her breath, hating his own weakness, his inability to walk away from wet, available pussy. Ash was aware of her reaching down to touch herself, that she was manipulating herself to make the time pass.

Finally, she screamed, and he felt the vibrato of her release through the rubber. She slumped forward like a rag doll, the only thing holding her up his hands.

Bitterly, he stared at the gleam of the metal one. If he hadn’t had it, they wouldn’t want him – if he wasn’t some chosen savior, just some freakshow with one hand and a thousand scars.

He bit her shoulder savagely as he came, entirely without couth, his mind filled with dark thoughts.

She disengaged herself from him, leaving his hole-in-the-wall apartment without even looking back, and he dragged himself to the bathroom, where he splashed cold water on his face. Ash shuddered, his skin burning.

Everything under the surface made of ice.

***

Small, warm fingers caress the middle of his back as she spoons into his back. He smiles, still half-asleep, still wanting to cling to the dream he’d been having of an ocean of chocolate pudding.

“Emily watches Doctor Who,” she informs him, kissing the outline of his left ear.

“Mmm?” there’s a note of hope in his tone.

“And Jake is occupied with his blocks…”

“Hmm?” he turns over to face her now.

“Mary sleeps.” She watches him with that expectant look. “And the door is locked.”

He smirks as he rolls her over onto her back. “God, I love you,” he says, kissing her lips.

There’s something different about making love to the woman you’re married to. He doesn’t notice that her breasts sag slightly from years of nursing (he sags in other places he’d rather not talk about), or her cesarean scars; he sees an entire being, a full woman, someone he needs desperately. Every bit of flesh unveiled is a treasure to be praised with his lips; every inch of her flesh is to be caressed and celebrated.

She came back. She is here now, her head tossed to the side, giving up the whiteness of her throat for his kisses, tugging on his plaid, trying to bare his skin to her own questing fingers. She plays gently with the crinkling of chest hair decorating his chest and brushes his nipples, making him gasp.

“Slow,” he says against her lips.

Sheila moans at the very idea, reaching for the hem of her white lace top and pulling it off. He takes care of her bra with one hand and sucks on her neck, nibbling kisses that go up and down while he palms the fullness of each breast. It’s been three months since she successfully weaned Mary, and her breasts have retreated from their earlier ripeness. In trade, he can squeeze them, suck them, without worrying about hurting her. He manages to suck them until she nudges his head, pushing him further down her body.

Ash manages to lose his plaid pyjama pants on his way down the bed, nibbling her hips. They have an hour until the show’s over – an hour for him to bring her off, to get off himself, that didn’t leave much time for them to enjoy each other. He approaches her sex with easy confidence – he knows very well what she looks like, smells like, tastes like, and what pleases her the most.

Woman and salt invade his senses as he applies his tongue. His middle finger enters her, then the index (his fingers are too thick for more), and her hips begin to buck upward, little begging groans coming from the depths of her.

“Ashley,” she murmurs, as he holds her still with his right hand and strengthens his exploration. “There,” she whispers, holding herself open, exposing her clit to his tongue. “There….please…”

 

She’s damp; she’s wet; she’s soaking his fingers. Ash pants into her sex, enjoying the taste of her, wanting to savor just this mercy for awhile, before giving her the unpredictability of his own love/lust. He knows she’s touching her own breast, squeezing one, rubbing the nipple between her soft fingers while he paws her gently with the metal one. It takes awhile for her to get there, but when she does he knows when it happens, her shoulders hunching, her soft mouth parting, features tensing and her muscles rippling around him, ocean waves sucking at the substitute filler of his fingers.

He wants to, has to, be inside of her when she goes off next time. Everything in him has turned to a liquid rush of heat and warmth; he is an iceberg on the melt. She pulls him up by the shoulders, showers his face with gratitude-filled kisses, and shoves him onto his back.

The waistband of his boxer shorts get yanked down to the middle of his thighs as she kisses her way down his body, decorating his hips with pink love-bites and nibbling lightly on his pale brown nipples. Soon she’s kneeling between his spread knees, choking herself on his cock.

Ash runs his fingers through her long hair as she bobs with a combination of enthusiasm and love on his prick. “God…good…more…” he mumbles, his head working back and forth as he rubs her back encouragingly. “Sheila…” he adds, knowing who he’s with even as he becomes lost in her passionate display. She knows when he’s nearly reached his limit and leaves him momentarily bereft as she awkwardly straddles his lap, reaching down and nudging the head of his penis into her warm pussy.

He shudders when he enters her – nothing compares to the feeling of this woman without layers of protection between them. She’s been back on the pill for a month now and finally, finally he can be with her barrier-free without worrying about accidentally knocking her up.

He wallows selfishly in the friction as she does most of the work, braced against his hip and abdomen, using his thick torso to balance herself upright. Sheila in her lust is a beautiful thing, her lips slightly parted and her eyes half-open, looking at his body, appreciating him frankly. She gropes for his left hand and presses it frantically to the apex of her sex, asking without words for him to rub her clit while she rides him.

For a moment, he watches himself plunge in and out of her warmth, cock glistening in the sunlight pouring freely into their bedroom; she lets out a little ‘umph’ every time he hits bottom (it’s just the right depth in this position; if he were tapping her cervix she’d sure as hell let him know), and he notices the fine sheen of sweat on her pale skin, the way it makes her hair curl at the nape of her neck; how her breasts jiggle slightly with every downstroke in the restraint of his right hand.

And then he can bear his inertness no longer and thrusts up into her smoothly, using his pelvic muscles. His thighs are still trapped in the boxer shorts, but he tucks his knees up, supporting her lower back. Sheila breaks her rhythm, gasping quietly, squeezing him inside of her which makes him pause.

“Not yet,” he groans, trying to keep some semblance of rhythm going on her clit.

“Please?” She circles her hips, making him groan.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Not until you do.”

But she’s close, the flesh of her clit firm against his palm. He strokes around it, gently over it, making her pause and let out an involuntary cry. Ash sits up, capturing her lips before the children can be alerted, then giving each nipple a quick, sharp suck.

“Shh.” He nips those sweet, plump tips, rocking her in the saddle of his lap. “Shh…”

Sheila melts bonelessly into his arms, kissing the side of his neck; every part of him bursts to life, into protective warmth. Ash rolls her onto her back, slowing the rhythm.

“Ohh,” she murmurs, looping her arms around his neck, smiling up. “Adore thee,” she tells him, then shows him, rising up into his rocking thrusts.

Ash sweats; he bites his lower lip. He can’t get a hand between her legs in this position - he’s tried before and nearly broken his neck in the process - she assists, rubbing herself, the volume and quality of her pleasure increasing dramatically.

He cuts off her praise by sucking on her tongue, increasing the rhythm. His hips pump as she plants her feet on the mattress, arching up, giving as good as she gets from him. Ash knows they’re home free, in like Flynn, headed for an ending that she reaches with a soft sigh and a vibration of muscles around him. It isn’t always this good, but it always means something with her. His thrusts draw it out for her as he speeds up, as her thighs squeeze his hips.

“Aye,” she moans. “Oh Ashley, yes…”

“Do you want it, baby?” he whispers. “Do you want me to come?”

“Please,” she murmurs, staring up into eyes that flicker shut when it finally pounces on him.

She’s limp as a dishrag when he loses it, comes vigorously in quick rushes of heat, squeezing the headboard with his right hand. She has him by the back of his head, capturing his shouts with her mouth, muffling them. Smart girl, he thinks, as she slides off and slips to the left, panting, leaving a parting kiss against his mouth.

When he comes back to himself she’s laughing softly, snow falling from overhead branches. “ _Dishabille,_ ” she says softly, kissing his lips. “ _Tres beaux, and tres dishabille_.”

“Do I wanna know what that means?”

She smiles, kisses his lips. “That you are beautiful but hopelessly disarrayed.”

“Not with you, baby,” he says, kissing her hand before reaching down to fix his boxer shorts. She’s made him whole again, but he doesn’t want to drown her in sugar (he doesn’t have the fancypants language skills to tell her, anyway). She retrieves her slip from the floor and pulls it over her head, curling up in his embrace, sighing peacefully.

They need to take a shower before the kids come looking for them. They need to get up and make dinner, and find out what’s playing down at the 1-2-3.

And they will.

But not yet.


End file.
